


Ruffing the Passer

by superhoney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sports, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, DeanCas Smol Things 2019, Fluff, Football Player Dean Winchester, M/M, Puppies, a surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 18:48:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20765213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney
Summary: Dean's team is gearing up for the playoffs, but it's hard to focus on football practice when the field is covered in puppies.Their blue-eyed handler might be even more of a distraction, though.





	Ruffing the Passer

**Author's Note:**

> Have some absurdly pointless fluff for this year's entry for the DeanCas Smol Things challenge.
> 
> Thanks to zaphodsgirl, A_Diamond, and sconesandtextingandmurder for running this with me, and to sconesandtextingandmurder for beta-reading and answering my questions about the NFL.
> 
> Inspired by [this quality content on Twitter.](https://twitter.com/REDBLACKS/status/1133039081447972866)

The locker room is empty.

Dean pauses, eyes scanning the room for any sign of movement. It wouldn’t be the first time one of his teammates has tried to pull some sort of prank on him. There’s no hushed laughter, no squeak of shoes against the gleaming floors, nothing to indicate there’s anyone else here with him.

Frowning, he checks the time on his phone. He’s early, but not ridiculously so. A few of the other guys are even more obsessed with punctuality than he is, and they should be here by now.

“Okay,” he says to the empty room. “Weird, but okay.” He strides over to his locker and changes out of his jeans and t-shirt into his practice gear. He runs his hands over the number twelve on the back of his jersey, the same number he’s worn since high school. The number he hopes to wear all the way to the Super Bowl championship this year.

But first, he needs to find the rest of his team.

It feels strange walking through the tunnel under the stadium on his own. Usually, he’s surrounded by his teammates, their energy feeding his. Dean draws in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, his footsteps echoing down the long hall. He and his team are about to enter the playoffs for the second time in two years, and if Dean has anything to say about it, this time they’re not going to get knocked out in the first round. 

The sunlight hits him full force when he steps out onto the field, and he raises a hand to shield his eyes from its glare. When his eyes adjust, he stops in his tracks, wondering if somehow he’s wandered into an alternate reality.

The entire field is covered in puppies.

Okay, so that might be a bit of an exaggeration. But considering that this is a professional football team’s stadium, there shouldn’t be _any_ puppies on it at all.

Puppies of assorted sizes and shapes, barking and tumbling all over themselves as they dodge and weave around the ankles of Dean’s teammates. Dean blinks and rubs his hand roughly over his eyes, but the scene doesn’t change. 

“What the fuck?” he says to no one in particular.

“Dean.” A few feet away, Victor delicately places his hands over the enormous ears of a German Shepherd puppy. “Language.”

“Seriously?” Dean mutters to himself. “That’s what you’re concerned about right now?”

Victor shrugs and crouches lower. The German Shepherd pants happily into his face as Victor rubs its flanks, its tail thumping wildly against the turf. He seems much more absorbed in playing with the puppy than he is in explaining himself to Dean, so Dean just pinches the bridge of his nose and goes in search of someone whose brain hasn’t melted into a pile of goo.

It takes a long time. Max, their best wide receiver, is laughing in delight as he throws a ball for a corgi puppy that keeps falling over its own feet trying to scramble after it. Benny is stretched out full-length on the field, covered in wriggling blobs of fur whose breed Dean can’t identify. He’s too busy crooning endearments at them in French for Dean to get any sense out of him. Every other player he passes is in a similar state, and Dean’s frustration grows as he crosses the field.

He scowls as he takes in the half-grown collie sitting happily at Coach Singer’s side. Bobby isn’t exactly known for being the affectionate type, but he has one hand resting on the dog’s head, idly scratching its ears, and there’s something like softness in his eyes, shadowed by the brim of his ratty old hat. “Bobby,” Dean says, with the familiarity of a quarterback who’s worked with this coach for years, “what the hell is going on?”

“Therapy puppies,” Bobby answers. 

Dean waits, but he doesn’t offer anything further. “Okay,” Dean says slowly. “Why do we need therapy puppies?”

Bobby gives him an exasperated look and stops scratching. The collie pushes at his hand with its nose, and Bobby smiles down at it and resumes his attentions. “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because we’re about to enter the playoffs and we’ve got the weight of expectation riding on all our shoulders.” He lifts one eyebrow as he looks back at Dean. “Especially yours, son.”

He has a point. All the media outlets are saying this could be the year. The odds are in their favour, the fans are in a frenzy, and as much as Dean hates the way the quarterback is sometimes treated like the only player who matters, he knows the biggest share of the pressure is on him. 

Which is exactly why they should be practicing, not-- whatever it is that they’re doing. Puppy therapy. Dean’s not opposed to it in principle, but couldn’t they have scheduled an additional time for it? Or brought the furballs in after practice was finished?

He says this last part out loud, and he’s treated to a dismissive snort in reply. But not from Bobby. A tall, dark-haired man, wearing a navy polo shirt with the name ‘Cas’ stitched on it in gold letters, appears from behind Bobby, a chubby golden retriever puppy held against his chest. 

“Let me guess,” Dean says, narrowing his eyes. If he weren’t so pissed off, the sight of this devastatingly handsome guy carrying that squirming mess of adorable would probably have him just as twitterpated as the rest of the team. “This was your idea.”

Cas shrugs. “Not entirely. Bobby contacted me and asked if I thought it would be helpful to bring the puppies by. I said yes.” A flash of a smile lights up his stern features, and Dean takes an instinctive step forward, drawn in despite himself. “I know this is a stressful time of year for you all, and obviously, I’m a firm believer in the benefits of puppy therapy.”

“Obviously,” Dean drawls. He glances back out towards the field, where more of his teammates have joined in on the antics, and sighs. There’ll be no getting through to them now. “Did it have to be unannounced? I hate surprises.”

There’s a twinkle in Cas’ bright blue eyes that makes Dean’s knees feel a little shaky. “That’s why it’s effective,” Cas explains. “If you anticipate something good, you set expectations, and even if those expectations are met, they’re rarely superseded. A pleasant surprise, however--” He trails off, eyes travelling slowly down the length of Dean’s body. “It’s always going to be pleasant.”

Dean bites back a smile. This guy is shameless, flirting him with him so openly, but Dean isn’t about to complain. “You’re pretty confident in your reception, huh?”

“Very,” Cas replies. “I’ve never once had anyone disappointed to be surprised with puppies.” He tilts his head to the side, considering. “Well. Maybe you.”

“I’m not disappointed,” Dean corrects him. “Just--” He waves his hand loosely towards the field. “Need a minute to adjust, you know?”

“Of course,” Cas says gravely. He pauses for a moment, then holds the golden retriever puppy out to Dean like Rafiki holding Simba up at the beginning of The Lion King. “Here.”

Instinctively, Dean reaches out for the puppy. It squirms in his hands, then settles, head darting up so it can lick his chin.

Dean can’t help it. He laughs, pressing his face into the silky fur on the top of the puppy’s head. It’s damn cute, he has to admit. 

“Her name is Marigold,” Cas informs him. His eyes are soft as he watches the puppy wriggle excitedly in Dean’s hold. “I think she likes you.”

“Don’t know why,” Dean mutters under his breath. Marigold yips and butts her head against his chin, and he laughs again. “Okay, okay. I’ll play with you.”

He sets the puppy down on the field, where she immediately begins gnawing on the laces of his cleats. “You know I have a sponsorship deal for those,” he says, as if he expects her to understand.

“I think other than our furry friends here, the whole world knows that,” Cas says drily. “Maybe that’s the point of all this.” He waves his hand at the field, the players and puppies all jumbled together across the artificial green grass. “They don’t have any expectations. They don’t care about your record. They just want to give love and be loved in return.” A soft smile steals over his face, and Dean’s heart skips a beat. “And that’s something to cherish.”

Dean lets out a deep breath, gently guides his foot away from Marigold’s teeth, and pulls Cas into a kiss.

Everything else fades away: the excited barks from the puppies roaming the field, his teammates’ laughter, the click and flash of the photographers’ cameras, the headlines that are probably being furiously typed up about their chances at Super Bowl victory. There’s only Cas, broad shoulders under sun-warmed cotton and the faint prickle of stubble on his cheeks and jaw. Soft, plush lips pressed against his own, and the smell of rosemary in his hair from the shampoo he uses, a scent that never fails to drive Dean wild.

“I hate it when you’re right,” he murmurs as he pulls away.

Cas laughs, leaning in to press another swift kiss to Dean’s lips. “I know. And I also know you hate surprises, but--” He shrugs, spreading his hands wide. “You would never have agreed to it if I had asked.”

“Yeah.” Dean nods. “But not because I think it’s a bad idea.”

“No?” Cas raises one dark eyebrow, and Dean smiles at the familiar gesture.

“Because you’re a goddamn menace in this uniform of yours,” Dean says, voice low, as he splays one hand over Cas’ chest. “How am I supposed to focus on practice when you show up looking like this?” He shakes his head slowly. “And then holding this little angel--” he waves a hand to indicate Marigold, who has passed out on the grass beside them-- “low blow, Cas. Low blow.”

Cas grins at him, the big, broad, beaming expression of joy that Dean fell in love with so many years ago, when they were both back in college and Dean was the typical jock with the crush on the hot nerd. 

“I don’t understand how you survive in your chosen career with this uniform kink of yours,” Cas says. 

“It’s not the uniform,” Dean replies. “Well, it doesn’t hurt, but it’s more about the guy wearing it.”

Cas’ smile doesn’t fade, but it does turn softer, sweeter. He reaches for Dean’s hand and kisses the strip of pale skin on his ring finger, visible since Dean’s wedding ring is currently sitting safe and secure in his locker. “I could say the exact same thing.”

They’re still standing there, pressed tightly together, with Dean about to lean in for another kiss, when a sharp bark draws his attention downwards. Marigold is awake, apparently, and displeased to find Dean’s attention has wandered elsewhere.

“This was a good idea,” he admits as he bends down to scoop the puppy into his arms. She settles contentedly against his chest, and Dean can’t help smiling as he looks down at her.

“I know,” Cas says again. “You’ve been so stressed out lately, Dean, and I understand why, I do, I just hate feeling like I can’t do anything to help--” He shrugs, spreading his hands wide. “And then I thought, of course there’s something I can do. My job, quite literally.”

“You’re going to set a trend,” Dean informs him. “It’s going to be all the rage now, organized sports and puppy therapy.” Holding Marigold carefully, he maneuvers one hand free to wave at the assembled journalists and photographers on the other side of the field. “If I know the media, they’re going to have a field day with this. We’re going to go viral, babe.”

Cas makes a face, but doesn’t disagree. “I don’t care,” he says. 

“Really?” They’ve always kept their relationship quiet. Dean’s out to his teammates and to the world, not only as a bisexual man but as a happily married one, but at Cas’ request, his husband’s identity has been kept secret. 

“Really.” Cas steps closer, scratches Marigold’s ears, and pulls Dean in for another kiss, long and deep. “Because I’m going to kiss you just like that, in front of millions of viewers, when you win the Super Bowl, and I figured we could both use the practice.”


End file.
